Over Time
by spectacal
Summary: Then you accepted the truth; everything that happened to you and everything that would. Now you refuse to stand for it. - Spoilers for the end of the manga/anime, 009/003 -


**Author's Note:** I wrote this on a whim after I rewatched the entire 2001 Cyborg 009 series over the holiday break. I think everyone and their mother has written a scenario to what happened after the events of the final episode, but since I've been slacking in my other fandom fictions, I thought this would help me get back into the groove.

This takes place directly after "When You Wish Upon a Shooting Star," and is definitely 009/003.  
Enjoy ;)

* * *

_Then_ you never needed enhanced hearing or sight to know where he was. He was always so close by that you could pick him out of a crowd if you needed to. His laughter always rang louder, his smile visible for miles anyway. Even in battle – him fighting with his life and you somewhere as safe as possible – you could hear every satisfying punch he landed and every scrape against soft skin for you to check later. He was a comfort in the back of your mind, knowing that he was close by.

_Now_ you can't hear anything except the ocean lapping up against you. You can't see anything past the clouds above your head, nothing except the fading twin billows of smoke left behind from 002's jets. You can't even hear your own sobs, gaze unmoving from the sky.

* * *

_Then_ you were always calm in battle. You relied on the others to do the fighting. You weren't equipped to do much more than fire a gun, but your eyes and ears always did the job of helping the others. You felt safe, and stayed quiet unless shouting a warning or answering a question. The illusion of calm that you knew you didn't possess.

_Now_ you're openly frantic; your heart beating faster than you've ever felt before, as if it was trying to escape by bursting through your chest. Your breathing is shallow, and when a sudden bright light fills the sky, you forget that it's even needed. You can't stop screaming, fighting against 004's arms, sobbing _no _and _someone do something_ and _please_.

* * *

_Then_ you accepted the truth; everything that happened to you and everything that would. Fate, destiny, bad luck – you knew it was inevitable.

_Now_ you refuse to stand for it.

* * *

_Then_ your powers could only reach so far. Miles at most, only reaching the tip of somewhere farther. You've tested how far you can go, straining yourself until you gave yourself an amazing headache. You figured there was always time for it, if it was even possible, to go farther than your limits.

_Now_ it's like someone snapped their fingers and pulled a rabbit out of a hat in your mind, like you've always known how to do this. How to reach across the world and pick out the sound of birds, or the very, very faint sound of breathing. How to see the color fading from their eyes. You're so far gone, like you're standing there next to them, watching them _die_, you don't realize the eyes of the others on you as you describe exactly where they are.

* * *

_Then_ you were almost convinced you could have been a nurse. You were composed around injuries or sickness, watching Doctor Gilmore intently as he worked. You could place an IV, wrap a bandage, and take blood like nobody's business. As soon as your patient opened their eyes, you could pull a smile up from somewhere deep inside, all soft words and warm touches. These were your friends, and you were always convinced that a little hope was the perfect medicine. It's what you took to get you through those terrible times.

_Now_ you can't trust yourself to do much of anything. You can't get enough control to stop your hands from shaking, and when Doctor Gilmore sits you down, says _you did good_ and _let me do this_, you can barely stay still long enough to get a clear thought through your head. All you can see is burnt flesh, bodies so mangled that you don't even recognize either of them anymore. As if they aren't human. But they are – it's what you've all convinced yourselves since embarking on this journey – and you sit down and listen to the comforting sound of breathing, shallow and laborious, in the next room.

* * *

_Then_, you cursed your cybernetic parts with every essence of your humanity. Although not as burdened with the amount of change like 004, you fought against it whenever you could, refusing to accept that you were anything less.

_Now_, you thank whatever god is out there that organs made from steel are replaceable, that enforced skin can heal, and keep their hearts beating.

* * *

_Then_ it took you the longest time to start referring to your teammates – _friends_ – by their real names. They were introduced to you by numbers, and in battle, that's how they always were. They were still people, from different parts of the world from different times, but names seemed to be painful reminders of how life was. This was their life now, numbered from oldest to youngest, representatives of the could-be future.

_Now_, with his over-bandaged hand in yours, his name is like a prayer. A wish. _Hope._ You whisper it over the continuous and reassuring beeping of the heart monitor, over and over, _Joe…Joe, please…Joe_.

* * *

_Then_, during the recovery, you thought you would forget the color of his eyes. Those sparkling, soft eyes like rubies, always taking in the world around him. You never thought you would feel your heart flutter the same way like you did when they took you in. It was so long, so tedious for everyone; you thought you would never see them again.

_Now_, as the morning sun comes in through the window and your dreams lift, you turn to your side and breathe in the new day. When you open your eyes, you discover the color of his all over again. They take you in, followed by the smile you adore on the man you love, as he whispers _good morning._

* * *

_Then_? There is no then. Not anymore.

There's only now.


End file.
